FatScribe Slight No. 3

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30 March 2011

Having already stuffed a sweater and folded purple checked collared shirt into his bag, Brankton found that t-shirt and khakis still proved an unequal match for the afternoon heat. He looked down from the grassy hillside and felt the coolness coming up from the spring. Though the sunlight remained strong and the temps were still in the low 90’s, a coolness nonetheless hung around the springs. Brankton wanted to jump into the clear water as much as he wanted to do anything in his life.

Three perspiring coeds lying nearby on large towels on the grass wasted away an afternoon as only college sophomores with graduation and the real world seemingly a lifetime away could. Assuming like most sunbathing beauties that their oiled bodies, skimpy bikinis, and Saturday night plans were the center of the known universe, they spoke loudly to each other as if Brankton were not there in front of them with one of his size-12 Puma’s resting on the metal railing.

“He is not going to be there. He texted Marci that his parents were in town and he had to hang with them,” said the blonde coed with the smallest bikini and matching modesty.

“Sure, just like Tommy’s parents were in town except he was out running that game behind your back,” the slightly overweight redheaded roomie chimed in with her jealousy issues and a habit of rubbing her roommates’ troubles into open wounds while feigning concern. “Is that the new excuse these a-holes use when running around? Their parents are in town? You gotta be kidding me!” The two looked at each other over gossip and fashion magazines whilst lying on their bellies, two tuchases reaching skyward pulled skimpy swatches of cloth with the letters “UT” into ever-reddening clefts.

“Only a desperate woman would fall for such nonsense,” said the hottest of the lot sitting in her low profile chair between them and the least to worry about such infidelities, or so the brunette mistakenly thought. She was the only one staring at the flickering water through cheap convenience store sunglasses. “Besides, I’m looking at this fine brother comin’ up at us right now.” The three adjusted perspectives in their usual move and shared a lusty distraction.

Brankton watched the three looking down as a muscled blur came into their view. Water shed off the shoulders and baby dreds of the swimmer as it also did his red lifeguard trunks soaking the concrete walkway that shuttled its shivering revelers to and fro an inclined lawn and chilly spring feeding the pool from deep underground rivers.

“Damn, I think I want to have his baby,” said the hottie in a now pronounced southern accent as she continued her kibitzing. “MmmHmm,” the others added in unison.

Brankton did not remember college women this aggressive. He turned to see who owned the wet calloused feet slapping against the concrete with such gusto.

“Hey, what’s up?!” Nelson waived in the general direction of Brankton and the young women. Brankton looked awkwardly at the man-child that now stood dripping before him; all at once he felt out of place.

“Hi,” all three women responded to Nelson. Brankton turned around looking at them and then back to Nelson.

“What are you doing here?” asked Nelson completely ignoring an opportunity to chat up three female students from the University of Texas at Austin. The girls stared slack-jawed laughing at their mistake and all wheeled around onto their towels, grabbing magazines in which to bury faces.

“Well, uh, this is my last stop of the day before the hotel,” said Brankton not sure how to stand or where to look. Nelson began again up the walk. “C’mon, I’m over here.”

“Okay, well” said Brankton gesticulating with hands, thumb and finger toward the pool. “I wanted to, uh” and then just gave up trying to speak to Nelson’s long, swimmer’s back.

“Dude, you’re like setting records with your Austin pilgrimage. You’re like Chaucer and his Canterbury Tales, except not, because you’re a Jew and all,” said Nelson over his shoulder. Nelson finally grabbed his chair which was in the shade of a baby oak, and pulled a towel out of the bag.

“You like Chaucer?” said Brankton.

“Let’s just say I’m glad I read him.” said Nelson. “So, you’re definitely going to go for a swim? Alright! You got some trunks in that bag?”

“Actually, no,” said Brankton. “I heard some people, well, at our breakfast this morning. You guys were talking about some festival and I overheard someone talking about Barton Springs. I decided to come here instead of going to my ex’s house.”

“No sh*t,” said Nelson. “Yeah, well, that was me telling Jackie not to forget that she had to drop me off here before she headed back home to get ready for tonight.” Nelson stood up and dried off. He pulled another towel out and threw it to Brankton. The three co-eds had a bird’s eye view of Nelson stripping down to his Speedos. He tossed his swim trunks to Brankton, hitting him in the face with a wet splat. Brankton pulled them down and just groaned.

“Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, no worries, kid,” said Brankton. He hesitated.

“You know you want to get in there, so suck it up, man, drop trou’ and slip those on,” said Nelson. “They’re clean, trust me. I had these Speedos on underneath. You’re good to go, man.”

Brankton stood and looked around before walking to the edge of the high-dive. The place seemed deserted. He bounced once then twice and launched himself into the deep end. He was not prepared for how cold it was, nor was he prepared for how much cooler the water was 10 feet down. It was almost painful and surprising to hit contrasting thermal so quickly. He swam and kicked as fast as he could to get to the surface. For a moment he panicked, but now was swimming across the pool with purpose. It took him almost ten minutes to realize his body was not going to acclimate to the coldness; he'd have to take a break.

He found a spot on the concrete to lie down. Brankton was exhausted. Before falling asleep in the sun with one foot in the cool water, he noticed a tall and tan hunk with shoulders Atlas would envy walking with three coeds toward the pool.

FatScribe Pull No. 1

"Nature and tyrants abhor a vacuum. And, when this wide-body kleptocracy of Mubarak exits the Sinai Peninsula, I predict we will have radicals entering the vacated public square ready to bring new direction and dictates to the masses that don't have the rights of man on their agendas. I'm afraid that radicalism will replace corruption, and then the West will have both to contend with." -- FatScribe

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FatScribe Slight No. 6

Brankton had visions of a rotund Orson Welles with white chef hat in the back somewhere saying that he'd "flip no flapjack before it's time." He also had a vision of smacking the sass off that fat man's face. -- FatScribe